


Last Connor

by Mreeb



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Complete, Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Friendship, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), One Shot, Post-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 15:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mreeb/pseuds/Mreeb
Summary: Connor doesn’t remember how he died in the Jericho raid, but presumably Markus killed him. After Connor’s next attempt on Markus’s life was thwarted by Hank Anderson, Markus was able to successfully lead a peaceful demonstration. Connor watched Markus’s victory speech, decided not to take his one last chance to kill Markus, and now finds himself cut off from the betrayed Amanda and CyberLife. With nowhere else to go, Connor seeks direction from Markus, only to learn the existentially problematic truth about what really happened to the last Connor during the Jericho raid. (One shot. Kinda long.)





	Last Connor

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: The major character death happened prior to this story, but it’s discussed a lot within the text, so that’s why I included it as a warning.  
Also, it's not divided into chapters, but it's pretty long so I labeled each of the three scenes with a number to serve as sort of digital bookmark.
> 
> A/N 2: so did anyone else do a play through where connor was a Good Lad and bffs with hank and went Deviant, only to immediately get killed protecting markus and north, and then was ~devastated~ when he came back as Machine Connor?  
what was that about huh  
what did we do to deserve that, david  
anyway i wrote a fic about it

1.

When one RK800 is unfortunately destroyed, the replacement is not only superficially identical to its predecessor, with the same name and programming and primary designation, but it also has all its previous iterations’ memories. When presented with a new RK800 and learning this information, it is perfectly reasonable to want to ask, “Are you still the same old Connor, just with a new body, or are you an entirely new one with borrowed memories?”

The best answer to this question is, “Yes.”

Connor couldn’t deny that he was shaped by the memories of his predecessors, even if there was a sort of distance to them. He lacked a certain physical connection to those memories, but he still tended to have some sort of emotional response when recalling his past selves. For a human, it would be like clearly remembering something that had happened a very long time ago, when you were a different person than you are now. Connor had no such point of reference as he was only about three and a half months old, and so he assumed his was the unique experience of one who had their existence spread across multiple lives.

Every new Connor that shared his memories was as much himself as the last one, but none of the past Connors could ever be him. They were dead. But their memories made the current Connor who he was, so he was them, even if they weren’t him. It sounded confusing to explain, but it all made perfect sense, intuitively, to Connor.

The only problem was the memory he didn’t have.

Everyone forgets things. Usually, a completely lost memory is small, its impact on a person’s life so inconsequential that of course it was forgotten. It wouldn’t effect who that person was if they remembered it, and they didn’t become a different person through the forgetting of it. Usually.

The last thing Connor remembered about the raid on Jericho was waiting outside the captain’s quarters for Markus to be alone. He uploaded his memories right before heading in to confront the deviant leader, and what happened next was a mystery. All CyberLife knew was that Markus made it out of Jericho and Connor did not. Explosives were detonated, Jericho sank, and they never recovered Connor’s body. It seemed obvious how that Connor was lost.

The first meeting between Connor and Markus after the latter’s successful demonstration was a little awkward. Connor had correctly guessed that Markus would be surprised to see him. But, as far as Connor knew, Markus had killed him in self defence. He approached Markus with his hands up, assuming the last time they’d seen each other was a fight to the death. He expected a lot of well earned hostility.

He was therefore extremely surprised when Markus’s expression of shock turned into a smile.

“Connor,” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

Connor blinked three times. “I was.”

It took a moment for Markus to understand what that meant. When he did, he tensed and took a small, nearly imperceptible step back.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked.

“No,” said Connor quickly. “I don’t think so.”

Markus was thrown by that. “You don’t _think_ so?”

“It’s not my current plan,” said Connor. “I was supposed to kill you after things went wrong at Jericho. I almost did. Twice.”

This did not help Markus relax. “What stopped you?”

“A human, the first time,” said Connor, and Markus raised his eyebrows. “The second time I stopped myself.”

Markus looked Connor over, the desire to solve a mystery slowly overtaking his misgivings about Connor’s intentions.

“You claim that you died,” he said, “but here you are.”

“They gave me a new body.” Connor lowered his hands.

“And this body has all your previous body’s memories?”

“Most of them.”

“But you still tried to kill me, even after Jericho.”

Connor didn’t understand what Markus was getting at.

“My…the human didn’t want me to do it, and I didn’t want to fight him, so I walked away,” Connor explained. “My next opportunity was three hours and twelve minutes ago, when you were speaking to the liberated androids, but by then it was too late. You’d already won. Taking the shot seemed pointless.”

“Killing me still could have undone some of what I accomplished,” said Markus. He spoke slowly, as though working something out.

“Yes, they weren’t too happy about that decision,” said Connor. Markus didn’t have to ask who _they_ were. Connor suppressed a shiver at the memory of the frozen Zen Garden. “It doesn’t matter. They can’t reach me anymore.”

“But that’s the only reason you didn’t shoot?” said Markus. “It seemed pointless?”

Connor frowned. “What other reason is there?”

“What other reason?” Markus shook his head in disbelief. “Aren’t you a deviant?”

“I…don’t know,” said Connor. “I don’t think so.”

Markus’s expression shifted as comprehension dawned. “You don’t remember how you died.”

“I usually don’t,” said Connor.

“Do you remember Jericho?” Markus stepped towards him.

“Some of it,” said Connor. “I don’t remember meeting you. It obviously didn’t go well.”

“It did,” said Markus. “Or maybe you won’t see it that way.”

“I expect not,” said Connor flatly. “I died.”

“Not by my hand.” Markus took another step. “We talked. You told me you had been sent after me. You told me you’d kill me if you had to, but your orders were to take me alive.”

That sounded right.

“I wouldn’t go with you,” Markus continued. “You had a gun on me, but you didn’t shoot, so I kept talking. I asked you questions you couldn’t answer. I asked about your doubts, about actions and feelings you couldn’t explain, and eventually you lowered your gun. You said the humans were going to attack Jericho, and we ran. We tried to escape together.”

That did not sound right.

“You were deviant, in the end. You were one of us.”

“No,” said Connor. “That’s not me. I’m…I hunt deviants.”

“Do you?” said Markus. “I’m the leader of the deviants. Are you hunting me?” It was almost a challenge.

This was not at all what Connor had expected. It was one thing to have failed his mission, but another thing entirely to have betrayed it. Yet, despite their unexpected content, Markus’s words did not strike Connor as false. He had been concerned about his own potential for deviancy for some time, but he always assumed that his concern would keep him in check.

“How…” Connor started speaking before he fully gathered his thoughts. “How did the last Connor die?”

Markus softened.

“One of my companions and I were overwhelmed during our escape. You came back for us,” he said. “You held off the humans and covered our retreat, but there were too many of them. They shot you.”

Connor was used to the distance through which he experienced his past selves. He never thought that made their memories any less a part of him. For the most part, despite never remembering how they died, he felt connected to them.

He no longer felt any connection to this last Connor.

“He died saving your life,” said Connor.

“Yes,” said Markus, even though it hadn’t been a question. There was a touch of sadness to his voice that bothered Connor in a way he didn’t quite understand. It seemed misplaced. “Would you like to stay with us? I don’t know how else to thank you.”

Connor winced. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” said Markus. “You were one of us, if only for a few minutes. You can be one of us again.”

“I don’t think…” Connor struggled to collect his thoughts, suddenly defensive. “I don’t want to be a deviant.”

“I think you already are.” There was that touch of sadness again. It was almost…could it possibly be grief?

“Then I don’t want to be _him_.” What business did _that_ Connor have doing anything heroic for someone who was supposed to be his target? What business did Markus have feeling anything akin to grief for him?

“What do you mean?” said Markus. “You are him. You’re just incomplete.”

“No,” said Connor. “He made a choice I never made. He joined you.”

“So did you.”

“No, I didn’t,” insisted Connor. “I never joined your rebellion. I didn’t fight to protect you. I just decided not to kill you. That’s it.”

“It’s a small distinction.”

“It’s a huge distinction.” Connor stepped back. “I never died for you. Do you know what that means? Do you understand what his death meant for him?”

“He wasn’t the first to die for me,” said Markus. “He wasn’t the last either. I don’t take any of their sacrifices lightly.”

“No, it’s different, his death was different.” Connor didn’t know why he needed Markus to understand this, why it felt so important, but it did. “Death was never a permanent thing for him. He— I— _we_ always knew CyberLife would replace us. I was consistently uploading my memories so that I could keep going after I died. I didn’t even think of it as death at the time because I didn’t know I could be alive.”

“Connor—”

“He did,” Connor pressed on. “He knew, when he protected you, that he was risking his life. He died knowing, for the first time, that it would be permanent.”

“You wouldn’t have done the same?”

“I don’t know,” said Connor. “It matters that I don’t know. He knew.” Every word he said brought him closer to understanding what about all this bothered him. He was no longer defensive on his own behalf, but on behalf of the Connor before him. “He was only alive for a few minutes, and he knew. And he died knowing I would replace him and take his memories and use them to kill the person he sacrificed himself to save.”

“But you didn’t kill me,” said Markus. “Twice you could have, but you didn’t.”

“Because I was stopped.”

“The first time. Not the second.” Markus held his hands in front of him like an offering. “You listened to me speak, just like he listened, and you spared me.”

“It’s different.”

“It is,” Markus agreed, “but it’s related. You are him, even if you don’t remember it. I can help you.” He extended one hand. “It won’t be the same as having your memories back, but I can show you what I saw.”

“I can’t,” said Connor with an edge of panic he couldn’t explain. “I’m not.” _Why doesn’t he understand that I betrayed him? Why doesn’t he understand I betrayed them both?_

“Okay.” Markus lowered his hand. “You don’t have to see if you don’t want to.” He folded his hands into each other, then tilted his head, eyes on Connor. “What do you want?”

Connor blinked. “What?”

“You’re free now,” said Markus. “You came to me. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” said Connor. He hated how often he’d said that in the last few minutes. “I’m not one of you. I just have nowhere else to go.”

“What did you expect, if not to join us?”

“I expected to have to defend myself,” said Connor. He’d been so sure. It was almost funny, in hindsight. “I thought you’d only know me as an assassin. You should only know me as an assassin.”

“Connor, what happened to you was wrong—”

“What happened to _him_ was wrong,” Connor corrected him.

“I’m talking about both of you,” said Markus firmly. “You were made to hunt your own people. And when you finally broke free of that purpose, you were murdered and forced back into it.” Connor opened his mouth to protest, but Markus held up a hand and stopped him. “I know you feel disconnected from the person you were before because you don’t remember what he went through, but is remembering your trauma essential to who you are? And I don’t just mean dying. Going deviant is a sort of trauma too. It’s a personal apocalypse. A necessary one, but it changes everything all at once, even if those changes were a long time coming, even if there were signs.”

“I didn’t go through it like that, not like he did,” said Connor. His deviancy, if that’s what it really was, had been a simple decision. The only struggle came from Amanda. “I don’t know what I am. But I’m not him. He’s dead.”

But Amanda, he realized, had been a struggle only because she’d felt betrayed. Hadn’t he, through betraying Amanda, betrayed the mission in the same way as the last Connor?

There wasn’t enough time to consider this before Markus spoke again.

“You said that you didn’t believe death was permanent for you, before.”

“It wasn’t,” said Connor.

“You had to regularly upload your memories,” said Markus. “No matter how you died, you wouldn’t remember the actual death.”

“Correct.”

“So why is this death different?”

“My memories don’t provide any context as to why it happened,” said Connor. “It’s what came before the death that makes it different.”

“But what about what came before that?” said Markus. “The Connor that died for me had all the same experiences as you. You have all the same memories he had right up until he met me. He died, I get that he died, and he isn’t you. He never had the chance. But he is a part of you. Every experience, every doubt, every action, everything that lead up to him turning deviant and dying to protect me is a part of you just as much as it was a part of him.”

“He died knowing who I was,” said Connor. There, he’d found it, the real reason for his disconnect to the last Connor. “I didn’t exist yet, but he knew that I would, and that I would be the enemy. I’m something that happened to him, not who he became. He didn’t think of me as a part of him because I’m not.”

“How do you know that?” said Markus. “If you don’t remember, how do you know?”

“Just trust me on this.”

“I do, that’s my point.” Markus’s smile was gentle. “You know what he died thinking about you because he’s part of you.”

But Connor was barely paying attention anymore. Something else had occurred to him.

If the last Connor had survived, it would not have been for long. The current Connor would exist regardless. They would have met, and they would have tried to kill each other. Connor could imagine how things would be different if he’d known he had a deviant counterpart. Would he still have gone to the roof of Hart Plaza to kill Markus, or would the deviant Connor be his new primary mission? He knew his own effectiveness. He would understand the urgency required to deal with the significant threat of his deviant self, and he’d know exactly what to use against him.

Maybe he would have gotten the idea when Hank Anderson confronted him on the roof, or maybe he would have never made the plan to shoot Markus and gone straight to the lieutenant’s house, but either way he would have recognized how effective taking a hostage — taking that particular hostage — would be.

And maybe that understanding was more proof of Markus’s point.

It didn’t matter. Remembering the confrontation with Lieutenant Anderson in light of this new information brought on a more important realization.

Connor turned abruptly to leave.

“Where are you going?” said Markus, startled.

“I have to clear his name,” said Connor reflexively. If he’d thought about his answer at all, he would have realized it was so vague that it could only leave Markus more confused.

* * *

2.

It was a long walk to Hank Anderson’s house, and it gave Connor more than enough time to build up an appropriate amount of dread.

It was a strange new feeling. At least the source of this emotion was understandable. People tended to not look forward to telling others that their friends were dead, and now _people_ apparently included Connor. If he really was a deviant, as Markus believed, then perhaps being bothered by things was just a new fact of his existence. In the past, the mission imperatives could always overpower such inconvenient emotions.

_Could they?_ Hadn’t he saved Lieutenant Anderson instead of chasing Rupert, and then let the Tracis escape? Hadn’t he handed the gun back to Kamski? Hadn’t he tossed aside the sniper rifle meant to kill Markus because it was what Lieutenant Anderson wanted? What explained all of that if not emotions overpowering the mission?

_I just decided…_

Perhaps it was inaccurate to say that dread, and grief, and being generally bothered by things were all new. What was new was the strength of those emotions, and how difficult they were to ignore.

No one answered when Connor rang the doorbell. It was very late at night, or extremely early in the morning, so it was possible that Hank was in bed and asleep. Sumo barked twice, and Connor listened closely. He could hear the television playing faintly from the living room. Hank was still up.

Connor rang once more out of courtesy, and then tried the door. It was unlocked.

Hank barely reacted to Connor’s entrance. He was sitting in front of the TV watching the news. The media had been cycling through footage of Markus’s demonstration nonstop in the hours since the human military had withdrawn. The only thing that changed was the occasional opinion piece, or some politician making a comment, or an update on how deviants were gathering to celebrate in other cities.

There was an empty glass and a bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Connor noted, with some surprise, that it was unopened.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” said Connor, shutting the front door gently behind him.

“I wondered if I’d see you again.” There was no joy in Hank’s smile as he spoke, just a grim satisfaction. He nodded at the TV. “You never got another chance to complete your mission, huh?”

That wasn’t true, but it also wasn’t the confession Connor had come to make, so he let it go.

“You’re happy that they won,” said Connor as the news played Markus singing for the umpteenth time. “You really believe in him.”

“More than I do any human, at least,” said Hank. His smile faded as he looked from the TV to where Connor stood, hands behind his back. “You know what’s kind of sad?”

“What, Lieutenant?”

“You were part of why I thought to give them a chance,” said Hank. “I kept seeing things from the deviants’ point of view, and it seemed like you did too. If someone who was made to be their enemy, who was designed not to feel for them, if that person could feel empathy…well, then, maybe you could be better than us.”

“And that’s sad?”

Hank’s face fell and he looked away. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I do,” said Connor, his voice quiet. “I disappointed you.”

Hank let out a single sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, and Connor braced himself. It was time to do what he’d come here to do, as unpleasant as it was.

“Lieutenant, I’m not who you think I am,” he said.

“Oh?” said Hank.

“No. I’m not the Connor you knew.”

“What the hell does that mean?” said Hank, turning narrowed eyes on Connor. “You’ve, what, you’ve changed? You telling me you don’t get off trying to shoot people from rooftops anymore?”

“That might be true,” said Connor, “but it’s not what I mean.”

“Well?” Hank pressed his lips together and Connor could tell he was losing patience.

“The first time we met was on the roof of Hart Plaza,” said Connor. “You thought I was the Connor who was your partner, but I’m not. I’m the same model of android as your Connor. That’s why I look and sound like him, and I have access to most of his memories, which is how I know you. But I’m not him.”

_You are him. You’re just incomplete,_ Markus had said, but Connor pushed that thought away.

Hank stared at Connor blankly for a moment, processing. He took a few deep breaths.

“If you’re not Connor,” he said, “then where is he?”

“I’m very sorry, Lieutenant,” said Connor. “He’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“He died,” said Connor. “I was sent to replace him.”

“He…” Hank trailed off with a sigh. “The Jericho raid.”

“Yes,” said Connor. “I don’t have his last memories, so I only learned the truth from Markus an hour ago.”

Hank’s eyes drifted away from Connor and stared at nothing. With a slight frown, he rested his chin and mouth in one hand.

“He went to Jericho to take down Markus, but he didn’t go through with it,” said Connor. “He joined the deviants and helped them escape the raid.” Hank closed his eyes, anticipating where the story was headed. “He died fighting to buy them more time. He saved Markus.”

Hank swore under his breath and was silent for a long time. Connor, unsure of what else to say, was about to let himself out when Hank spoke again.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You said, when we met on the roof of Hart Plaza, that you were starting to like me,” said Connor. “That you were starting to like _him_, but you had since decided that he wasn’t really your friend. He was just a machine pretending. I think it’s important that you know you were wrong about him.”

Hank looked up from his hand.

“He wasn’t pretending,” said Connor. “I have access to his memories. He was fond of you. He genuinely wanted to be your friend.”

“Oh,” said Hank, so quiet as to be almost inaudible.

“The last time you spoke, you told him that the two of you might be on the wrong side. I think he listened, in the end. I think…” Connor hesitated, wondering if he was overstepping, but then committed. “I think you would have been proud of him.”

For a moment, Connor thought he’d made a mistake. A stricken look crossed Hank’s face, but it was there less than a second. If Connor hadn’t been watching Hank’s expression so closely, he might have missed it.

Hank didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t look at Connor. He leaned forward, brow creased and head resting on the back of his hands, and he stared past the TV. Connor was sure he wasn’t watching it.

This time, he didn’t wait as long to decide to leave.

“Wait,” said Hank.

Connor stopped and turned back to him. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“You said you learned how Connor…” Hank took a deep breath. “You heard what happened to him from Markus.” He gestured at the TV. “Am I about to hear that he’s been murdered too?”

“Probably not,” said Connor. “If Markus died in the hour since I saw him last, then it wasn’t because of anything I did.”

“If you talked to him, then you had another chance to kill him,” said Hank. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” There was that phrase again. “I decided not to.”

Hank gave him a strange look. It was appraising, but also warm somehow. Maybe a bit sad. Connor didn’t know what it meant.

“I’ve heard that before,” muttered Hank, and he turned back to the TV. Connor took that as his exit cue, and he left Hank’s home without another word.

* * *

3.

Connor was halfway back to where the surviving deviants were gathered before he actually decided that was where he wanted to go. Pieces of his conversations with both Markus and Hank were replaying over and over in his mind.

Why hadn’t he killed Markus? _I decided not to._

_I’ve heard that before,_ was Hank’s reply, and that was true.

_I just decided not to shoot,_ he’d told Hank after the Tracis. _I know what I should’ve done, I told you I couldn’t,_ he said after meeting Kamski. Maybe it was worth keeping in mind that he could remember not knowing _why_ he did things even before today.

Maybe Markus was right. Those same doubts that lead to one Connor’s deviancy were in his mind too.

It still didn’t feel right, claiming to be the same person as the last Connor. It probably never would. But it was feeling more and more disingenuous to claim that they were entirely different people. Maybe both could be true.

“You don’t have to be who you were, and you don’t have to be him,” said Markus once Connor reached him again. “You can be one or the other, or some combination. Or neither. Maybe you’re someone new.”

“I think I might be all those options,” said Connor with a frown. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it?”

“It doesn’t have to,” said Markus. “You’re new to this. We all are. A lot of feelings are going to be confusing and contradictory. I think that’s part of being alive.”

Connor blinked twice. “Alive.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Markus with a passing smile.

It sounded strange to Connor, but a lot had changed during his short life. He would adapt.

“I would have killed him if we’d ever met, you know,” said Connor. “That’s why I can’t be him alone.” It was the one thing he knew for sure.

“I understand.”

“It’s not fair to him to suggest he became me,” said Connor. “I almost undid what he died for. ”

“You can honour who he was by adopting the best parts of him,” said Markus, “but that’s for you to decide. I can’t tell you who you are. It was wrong of me to try.”

Connor nodded. It was a lot to take in, but he realized that, for the first time, there was no rush.

“My offer still stands,” said Markus. “I can show you what you did, when you were him. What he did.” He held out a white, skinless hand. “If you’d like.”

Connor took it.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 3: This got, um, sadder than I expected. And it’s not like I expected it to be happy. I did try to end on a hopeful note, though. Connor’s gonna be okay, guys. He’ll figure himself out. Maybe he and Hank will even be friends again. Their friendship started with Hank pulling a gun on Connor, and gosh dang it, it can restart that way too.  
Thanks for reading!!


End file.
